


written in loops and glitters, i'll make it our reality

by jetblacklilac



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: Jon finds Sansa's old diary. It should be hilarious but he finds a peculiar inspiration for his proposal.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	written in loops and glitters, i'll make it our reality

**Author's Note:**

> bruh idk i hope its alright. i do apologize for any typo. im sleep deprived and i miss they-

_Margaery: Operation Put a Ring on Her is on the move._

_Him: Ah, a pop culture reference for my romantic intention, cherry on top of romance._

_Margaery: Well, I can’t just say ‘Hey Jon, Bend the Knee to Sansa!’ That sounds like a sexual innuendo, doesn’t it?_

_Him: You’re not helping my nerves._

_Margaery: Get your ass down to the restaurant or I’ll demand Gendry to kick your door down._

Jon knew when she says a certain thing; determination will toughen her bones until she means to do it. He presses a hand down his polo shirt, exhaling shakily. He supposed it is helpful how Sansa’s best friend managed to get a wind of what he has been planning to do in the past four months. Merely mentioning it to the boys, much to their inebriated protests, and the next day, his phone was flooded with threats, pinterest links, and dozens of exclamations from the brunette. 

He shoves his phone down one of his pockets. Opening the door, his eyebrows furrow in confusion upon seeing the living room of his apartment is filled of Sansa’s siblings and his friends. He then recalled Theon copying his keys so he can crash in anytime he’s too drunk to snore in his own flat. 

“Ah, there’s the man of the hour!” Theon roared with laughter. He dashes out of the kitchen, clutching a bottle of cold beer that didn’t spill a drop when he came over to pat Jon on the back. 

He scanned the busy room to see Gendry passing beers around, Arya’s feet plopped on his thighs, and Robb staring at them in mild disgust but quietly sips his beer. “Why are you all here?” He questioned. He was the only one that’s dressed with importance as he donned a classic suit of black and white, his ebony curls unruly, and the shine in his Italian shoes are seen. 

Arya snorted and bumped her bottle against her boyfriend’s before answering. “Margaery texted all of us. She said something about being morally obligated to cheer you up before you propose to my darling sister.” She takes a gulp form her beer. 

Sam detached himself from the towering bookshelf situated near the flat screen television. He offered a gentle smile. “You’re white as a sheet, Jon. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll say yes.” He affirmed with confidence. His perpetual delicate nature is a go to comfort for Jon. Friends since high school and Sam always utter the right things to say whenever he feels troubled.

“I guess you’re a _decent_ candidate for my sister.” Robb grumbled, overtly attempting to watch some game blaring on the television but the conversation at hand can’t be avoided. He threw a small smile at his direction. “We all know you’re not the feely type but you must say some things Shakespeare would write in his plays.” He advised him then turned his attention to the television once more.

 _Noted._ “Any other brilliant council from my tipsy advisors?” He called out with a chuckle. 

“Just go there already!” They all called out in unison. 

Jon grabbed a spruce paper bag from the table behind the couch and waved his hand in dismissal at them. “You lots better be gone when we return, okay?” He warned with waned sternness. 

“So we won’t see you cry out of happiness? Nah, we rather see the snow melt!” Gendry called out, making the others laugh and raise their bottled beers at that, shouting “Hear hear!”

The trip to the restaurant is objectively twenty minutes but with how antsy his actions were; of him constantly tapping his foot in the tunes of his rapid heartbeats, he often threw glances to the seat beside his, the paper bag that contained, in Margaery’s words “his secret weapon besides the magnificent ring”. The pop songs oozing out of the car’s radio did nothing to soothe his nerves, the frets of thoughts that grew in volume, and the green in his veins surface as he tightens his hold on the steering wheel. 

Arriving to the restaurant, he observes Margaery, patiently waiting for him at the twin oak doors of the restaurant. His smile was somewhat wobbly as he approached Sansa’s best friend. “Hey.” He greets her, his voice hitching an octave higher as his hand grips the paper bag tighter.

One of Margaery’s perfect brows arched. “Nervous are we? Good that means you’re scared to screw things up.” Her hand patted the lapel of his wool grey blazer. The smile she wore was brilliant and the jade in her eyes shined more at the prospect of what is to happen. “You won’t ruin things, Jon Snow. In fact, I know you’ll make things better. My best friend has been reiterating about the want to marry you since your second anniversary.”

Jon didn’t want to hope _too_ much because frankly, nothing in the entire world could give more joy than having Sansa as his wife. He felt his face reddened at what he heard. It thrilled him to know how Sansa could yearn for the same plans as he did. Having a future with her is all he ever dreamed of since he was sixteen. And now, now he’ll actually do something about to instead of day dreaming of a certain redhead walking down the aisle. 

“Wish me luck.” Jon muttered, tugging at his onyx shaded tie, eying the interior of vacant establishment. Usually, if one didn’t reserve the entire place for a special purpose, the place would be moderately crowded. Laughter and chatters would fill the air along with wordless calming music. The overall comforting theme hasn’t change since he was a kind who barely knew how to ride a bike. 

Margaery introduced him to one of their best chefs, Hot Pie and informed him how this is their only employer available tonight for their plans. She checked her watch and grinned with devilish intent. “Sansa’s meeting with her clients just ended. And you don’t need luck, only that studded ring!” She said as she walked off in a confidence Jon wished he had right now. 

Hot Pie smiled nervously at Jon (Arya hasn’t told him of his legal name so everyone settled to call him that), the only worker in the establishment. 

“Hello, Jon! You should wait outside at the gazebo.” He requested and walked in front of him, guiding him out of the barren restaurant. They both walked on cobbled path, curving in between a yard of glimmering grass under the moonlight. “What you added besides the base decorations is quite romantic, I might say. You’re a man in love.” He says in a genuine awe of his efforts.

The mentioned decorations are delicately scattered rose petals on the wooden steps, crimson red petals also dotted the cobble stoned path they walked on, snaking between vast fields of green darkened by the evening’s sky, indigo with distant twinkling stars. He paces in a linear manner beside the table, hands tugging on his tie or the lapels of his suit until finally, he heard distant laughter in the restaurant. 

Hot Pie appears to be actively sharing recipes to Sansa, who politely listened with a civil smile. But she was more genuine at beaming as she spotted Jon. Even in the night, her braided fiery locks retained its fierce colour, swaying to her movements as she walks up to him. The blue in her eyes lighten like a summer sky and her lips are roses’ petals against his bearded cheek. 

“My darling, I’m quite surprised in finding a driver hired by you to drive me here. It isn’t our anniversary. Will you tell me you’re pregnant?” Sansa jested with a musical giggle. She settles on one of the plush chairs and Jon is quick to push it closer to the table. 

Jon sat across of her, reaching for her hand and placed chaste kisses on the knuckles. He swipes away the rebellious curls brushing on his forehead and sits across of her, smiling nervous and delighted at the same time. “Can’t I treat my wonderful girlfriend like the queen she is?” He says as though it was to be debated for philosophy. 

Hot Pie arrives with plates of delectable food and a proud look on his face. “These are the best dishes we serve.” He proclaims and makes a move to speak. Usually, they’d welcome his unnecessary chatter of his food and the procedures of it but the cook receives a stern look (the very same one Arya gives him back in the day of younger days) and he scurries off. 

Ease has never been a problem for them. From the moment they met, Jon knew and felt it in his bones that this level of cosiness could only mean one thing; they’re meant for each other. Even at such a young age of fifteen, his heart shed off its naivety and strengthened this belief by a tenfold each time they talk, each time adoring glances are thrown over the shoulders. He could almost see, out in the yard and near the patio, the very scene that invariably changed his life.

“Do you remember this gazebo?” He asks, gentle and he pushes off the excitement for later on as his foot nudges the paper bag.

She tilts her head as she attempts to recall. “This is an old family restaurant. I think half of my birthdays were spent here. Especially my fifteenth birthday because Mother insisted I turned into a woman then.” She answered with facts.

He sips a little of the wine, sweet and fruity. “This is where Robb hosted his sixteenth birthday. Your mother insisted somewhere formal because her eldest son is a man then, a milestone that I didn’t understand.” He replies then reaches for her hand, twining their fingers and laying a staccato kiss on her knuckles. “This is where I first talked to you. After months of ogling at you from afar, playing with Arya and Rickon, this is where I finally said a word to you.” 

“You offered me lemon cakes and tarts. Far more even when Mother said I shouldn’t eat more of the sweets” Sansa now recalls. His heart skips several beats at how elated she is with his memory, so close to their hearts and the very foundation of their relationship; among of many he knows. “And you even offered to sneak me in the kitchen when the serving trays ran out of our beloved desserts.” She says and her other hand gathers of her salad then eats it. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips and Jon found himself laughing as well. 

Halfway through a peaceful dinner, Jon has had it. The speech in his mind is slowly rearranging itself the more he listens to how her day went, the meetings she attended and much more details he would’ve loved to savour any other day. But not tonight, his hand pats his pocket. 

“Sans, do you remember when we stayed over at your childhood home over the holiday and well into New Years?” Jon chirps in a peculiar high note that certainly captured Sansa’s attention. 

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “Why, yes. I couldn’t possibly forget My brothers comment on how we could induce them toothaches.” There was a nervous laughter tacked at the end of her words, observing how Jon’s actions are increasingly becoming more frenzied. “Why do you ask?”

He bent down and retrieved the content of the paper bag. In his hand, he held a small rectangular notebook. It was the pinkest notebook he has ever seen, complete with a fuzzy surface, her name spelled out in golden glittery stickers, and a feeble lock to complete the look. “Because of what the eight year old Sansa said, I realized just how much I wanted us married.” He explained and went to the marked section.

Her face went adorably pink as she simpered, mystified and slightly embarrassed. “ _Jon Snow_ , what are you on?” She demands but her curiosity is all too obvious. 

He clears his throat, his cheeks denting at the pastel pink ink she wrote with when she was eight. “Dear Diary,” He recited, glancing over the diary to see Sansa’s eyes are wide but she anticipates his next move. “I dreamt of a prince and he was good to me. And now, I want to list off the good things my husband has to have.”

Sansa fidgeted with her hands, mortification evident on her face and tone of her words. “Please, stop. I was a child!” She pleaded and giggled in the same breath.

“First, I want him to be brave and strong like any Disney prince.” Jon taps his chin, feigning contemplation. “I watch horror movies with you and going to the gym is regularity for me. So far, I’m a competent candidate for your hand.” 

He flips to another page, dimly admiring how adorable her handwriting is in carnation cursive loops. “Second, he must be smart! Being intelligent is important, Mother says and she is always right. Well, I’m no Samwell Tarly philosophy major but I did kick your pretty ass in debates back in high school.”

An offended gasp reached his ears but they both laughed at his statement. “You only precisely four times. And it _was_ because of Sam that your side won! Though you were a formidable opponent, Snow.” She agrees with an arched brow.

 _Gods, I love you._ “Third, he must treat me like a Disney princess. I want him to love me like I’m royalty. I can love him like a prince or a knight if he likes.” He recites. He laps his large hand over hers, his thumb swiping on her soft skin. There is something indescribably addicting to this woman. No words could ever give justice to this profound love he has. “Do you I treat you as such, my love?” He teases.

She playfully rolls her eyes. “Not a princess but a damn queen. I may be biased with my judgement though.” She lightly warns with a snort. 

“Fourth, I want my husband to have blonde hair and blue eyes like a true prince of any kingdom.” Jon recited. He tilted his head to one side and sighs in a falsely defeated manner. “I’m no Prince Charming, I’m afraid. I have dark eyes and darker hair.” He mourned in agony, trying not to let the slight disappointment seep in too much his words.

“Jon, my love, you’re much more than the pretty men I used to fancy when I was eight! Though you don’t have the typical princely look, you’re valiant, kind, and ever so loving. And this, you, this is more than I could’ve imagined at that age.” Her conviction didn’t waver in any way as she makes sure he doesn’t look away as she earnestly talks to him. She tightens her hold on his hand and smiles.

“I really don’t deserve you.” Jon declares and drinks from his glass of wine. 

She relaxes against the seat and waves her hand in the air. “What’s the last thing in my list?” She lazily inquires and drinks more of her wine.

Jon allows his triumphant grin to curl his mouth. “The last one took a few months to acquire if I am to be honest. The moment I found this journal and read your list, I knew this is the sign I have been waiting for to propose to you.” He slips his hand into his pocket and fishes out a tiny rectangular velvet box. Rising out of his seat, with eyes not even straying from Sansa, anxious but they both knew what he intends to do. 

When he bends on one knee, her hand flew to her mouth. He only broke their eye contact to read off her childhood journal. “Lastly, I want the prettiest ring when he proposes to me! I want everyone to know how much my prince loves me. And I’ll be so proud to wear it.” He closes the notebook and places it on the table. 

He then flips open the box to reveal a silver and gleaming ring. Upon closer scrutiny, on the ring’s surface is riddled with pave-set diamonds, winking under the fluorescent lights; it twists elegantly and atop of it is a heart bud that is also covered in tiny luxurious diamonds. 

“Will you marry me?” He asked, relieved and downright ecstatic he got those four words out of his mouth after months of rehearsing this moment in his head far too many times to count.

It was minutes of silence and this began to chip away Jon’s usual confidence. Sansa remains gazing at the opened box and her hand is still clamped over her mouth. “Is-is it the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen?” He squeaked, his knee is beginning to dig into the wood so he shifts in the slightest.

She pushes away her seat and kneels before him. Nodding, she picks it up and the fit is perfect as everyone expected it to be. “Yes, Jon! Gods, I will marry you.” She exclaims in a cry and lunches forward to hug him with quivering arms. Her nose nudges on the spot below his ear and he wrapped his arms around her.

He stands up and spun her around, laughing as he did so. Any other memory of happiness couldn’t ever compare to the affirmation of their future together, now he holds it firmer in his hands. He now holds Sansa with a certainty of the long years he shall spend with her, until his last goddamn breath if he is honest with himself. 

Unwillingly, he pulls away but not too much, and tucks a strand of her behind her ear. “So, I’m guessing most of my fine qualities are checked off that list? I do hope I pass the standards of eight year old you and you’ll marry someone like me.” He whines then he lifts her left hand closer to his greedy eyes, wanting to let reality sink in. _I am hers and she is mine, truly and forever._

“That’s the thing; my love.” Sansa whispers as she stands on her toes and showers his cheeks with chaste kisses. “There isn’t anyone like you. And right now, I feel like we just fulfilled one of my most fantasied childhood wishes.” She presses her lips firmly against his, their mouths curving in utter and genuine delight. “I’m about to marry my prince. And though you aren’t what I pictured my future husband to be, you’ve exceeded my young expectations.” She ponders, her hands cupping his neck and kissing him again.

Jon grinned as he conjured up the image of his future bride ardently kissing him like this in front of their family and friends. 


End file.
